


in a land of myth and a time of magic

by SydneyHorses



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Arthurian Legend AU, Background annette/ingrid eventually, M/M, Merlin AU, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:15:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26655736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SydneyHorses/pseuds/SydneyHorses
Summary: "In a land of myth, and a time of magic...the destiny of a great kingdom rests on the shoulders of a young man. His name... Felix."-Felix arrives at Camelot, and ends up as the personal servant to the King's son, Sylvain. He's a prat through and through, and Felix can't stand the man. As time goes by and they're forced into increasingly dangerous adventures, Felix's feelings give way to something else, something far more difficult to name.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	in a land of myth and a time of magic

**Author's Note:**

> i am SO excited to launch this fic!!! it's an AU based off of BBC's merlin, but like... not queerbaity
> 
> @yaksinhats on twitter is going to be doing all the art for this fic! i'm planning to have it update about twice a month, or every 2-3 weeks. there will be art about every other chapter!
> 
> i can't wait for this AU; please tell me what you think!

Felix Hugo Fraldarius has no desire to die young. It’s not a thought he confronts on a regular basis, but as he steps through the gates of Camelot, he realizes that it may be something he’ll have to think about more often.

There’s a crowd gathered in the middle of the main square, and a man on a large balcony speaking to them. Felix knows that the castle lies at the center of Camelot, but he expected to go more than a few steps without being face to face with the nobility. There’s no doubt about it, though. The man speaking is clearly the King, from the crown on his head to the heavy teal cloak around his neck. There’s little news about King Ambrose Gautier in Felix’s small village, which lies more than a week’s journey away. Still, he knows that he’s a powerful man who leaves little room for compromise.

Well, that, and his stance on magic. 

“Magic is a scourge upon the land,” the King says, raising his left hand high above his head. “As your King, I have sought to keep the law equitable to all, but sorcery is a crime that cannot be overlooked. There is only one way to respond to actions such as that of this man.” 

His arm falls, and with it the executioner swings his axe downwards in a perfect arc. The sunlight glints off the sharp head of it, reflecting into Felix’s eyes. He squints, watching as the man kneeling in the square is beheaded in one swift motion.

There aren’t public executions in his hometown. Violence is scarce to begin with, and when it does occur, it’s out of necessity. Here, it’s clearly different. There’s a breathless, casual nature to it, from the stance of the executioner to the uninterested, almost bored way with which the crowd watches the man’s head roll across the dirt. He’s about to turn away and continue on his quest, when there’s a shout from the crowd, disrupting what had been an almost blase scene.

Something about the voice makes the hair on the back of Felix’s neck stands up, and he turns to see a middle-aged woman pointing a trembling finger up at the king. “You are the only scourge on the land!” she cries. “Magic is not the evil, but you!”

The King’s lip curls. “Seize her!”

The guards make a move towards the woman, but her magic is faster. She cries out words in a language Felix wishes didn’t make his blood sing, and then a swirl of mist surrounds her.

When it vanishes, she’s gone, and Felix clutches the bag on his shoulder a little tighter. He ducks his head and walks away, off to find Byleth, the court physician.

-

The directions Felix receives to Byleth’s chambers from a passing guard are less than helpful, but he manages. He always does.

When he arrives, the door is cracked, and Felix slips inside without knocking. “Hello?”

No answer.

Felix sighs, looking around the cramped space. There’s a bed stuffed in the corner, and a table in the center of the room piled high with all manner of things. There’s dried herbs, dusty tombs, and vials of unfamiliar liquids. It looks less like a healer’s quarters and more like a potion shop or some sort of apothecary. In the corner of the room, perched on a high ladder and dusting some bookshelves, is a woman. She has long, deep blue hair that goes down to the middle of her back, and is wearing a large, black robe.

“Are you Byleth?” 

The woman startles, whirling around on top of the ladder. Her feet slip out from under her, and as she starts to fall, Felix reacts without thinking. He rushes forward, extending a hand as magic courses through his veins. Pale gold sparks shoot out from his fingertips, and the armchair stuffed away in the corner zooms across the room, positioning itself neatly underneath Byleth. She lands in it with a heavy thump, and then looks around, dazed.

“How did you do that?”

Fuck. Felix shrugs. “Do what?” He’s not a very good liar. He should have thought about this.

Byleth stands, dusting herself off and gazing around the room as though she’s seeing it for the first time. “You saved my life, I think.”

Felix makes his way further into the room, setting his few meager belongings on a small, unoccupied corner of the table in the center of the room. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t do a thing.”

“You know that sort of thing will get you killed around here, don’t you?” Byleth stops in front of Felix, narrowing her eyes and looking up at him suspiciously. She’s shorter than him, but only by a few inches. He doesn't think it particularly matters though - the way she stands makes it seem as though she takes up the whole room. Despite the fine layer of dust covering all her clothes, her gaze is shrewd and sharp, and Felix involuntarily takes a small step backwards.

“Like I said,” Felix grits out, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Byleth sniffs. “Hmm.” She stands on her tiptoes, squinting at him before whirling around and walking away. “Well, you shouldn’t go around saving the life of everyone you see.” She stops, glancing over her shoulder with a small smile. “I am pleased that you saved mine though.”

Felix grunts.

Byleth sits down at the heavy oak table, opening a large book and leafing through it. After a few long moments have passed, she looks up with a start. “Oh. You’re still here.”

Felix shifts his weight from one foot to the other, uncertain and out of his depth. Maybe coming here was a mistake after all. “Yes. My father sent word ahead.” He frowns. “I think?”

“Oh!” Byleth slams her book shut. “You’re Rodrigue’s son.” She cocks her head to the side, staring at him owlishly. “I thought you weren’t coming until Wednesday.”

Felix’s uncertain look gives way to a scowl. “It is Wednesday.”

“Oh.” Byleth frowns, looking down at her fingers as she counts out the days. “I see.” She sighs. “Well then, I suppose you’d better sit down.”

Felix takes a seat across from her, pulling out the letter his father had sent with him and handing it to Byleth. She opens the letter and reads it, then looks up at him with a small frown. “I see. Well, you’d better go unpack and put your things in the back room then. After that, we can talk about the magic problem.”

-

That night, Felix has troubled dreams. A voice calls to him, as if from across a wide, insurmountable expanse. He tosses and turns well into the morning, and when he makes his way out of his new, tiny bedroom, Byleth is already seated at the table.

There’s a bowl of thin porridge awaiting him, and Felix grunts a greeting to Byleth before sitting down across from her.

“So,” she says. “You have magic.”

Felix grunts again.

She arches an eyebrow, then reaches across the table and knocks his bowl off of the table. Felix scoffs, reacting on instinct and stopping the bowl and porridge in its tracks. They float back up into the air, and then the bowl settles on the table, the porridge falling neatly back into it.

“How do you _do_ that?” Byleth asks. Her expressions barely change as she speaks, but he can still hear a very faint note of shock in her voice. “Do you say an incantation in your head?”

“No,” Felix snaps. “I don’t know any incantations. I just do it.”

“Weird,” Byleth replies. She finishes off her porridge, still eyeing him as though he may sprout wings and fly away at any moment.

Felix shrugs and continues eating in silence. When they’re both finished with breakfast, Byleth looks up at him and sighs. “Well. I suppose we’ll just have to keep you out of trouble as best we can. Until we find something for you to do, you can help me out. I have some deliveries today, do you think you could handle them?”

Why would he not be able to handle that? Felix scowls. “Of course I can do that. Just let me know what to do.”

Byleth hands him two small parcels. “That first one is for Sir Lonato, and the second one is for Lady Greyson.”

Felix nods and tucks them both away in his pockets, rising and heading over to the door. Just before he leaves, Byleth speaks again. “Felix, I hope I don’t have to tell you this, but if anyone sees you practicing any forms of enchantment, it won’t be good.”

-

Felix has finished his deliveries and is heading back to Byleth’s chambers when he hears a shout from across the training grounds. It’s hot out, the sun beating down harshly on the back of his neck, and it’s far faster to cut through the training grounds than it is to wind through the castle.

“Where’s the target?” The voice that rings out across the chambers is loud and jovial, and yet it makes the hair on the back of Felix’s neck stand up. There’s an authority to it that sets him on edge; a kind of casual callousness. It takes Felix a moment to find the source of the voice, and when he finally does something about him sets him on edge. The man is broad shouldered, with a shock of red hair that reminds Felix of something he can’t quite place. He’s holding a throwing axe in one hand, and he bounces its weight in his hand, as though testing it. 

“It’s right here, milord.”

Felix stops, watching the man laugh at the hapless servant holding the target. The man is grinning, broad and sharp, but there’s a glint to his eye that Felix doesn’t trust. 

“What, facing into the sun? You can’t possibly expect me to hit that.”

One of the knights standing with the red-haired man leans over and whispers something in his ear. The man straightens, back going rigid, and then nods, sharp and precise. “Well? What are you waiting for? Move it already.”

Felix can just barely make out the whispers of one of the knights. “Teach him a lesson.”

The man draws back an arm, hurtling the axe towards the servant who’s holding the now-moving target. The man yells and jumps, dropping the target.

“What’d you stop for? It was just getting good!”

This is barbaric. Lord’s son or not, Felix isn’t going to stand here and watch him push his status around like this. He steps forward. “That’s enough, isn’t it?”

The man whirls around, his brown eyes narrowed. “And who are you supposed to be?”

“You’ve had your fun, haven’t you?” Felix glances over at the servant, who’s now cowering behind the target.

A sneer is the only response he gets. “Answer my question.”

“I’m Felix.”

“Well Felix,” the lord pushes his bangs back from his face. “I think you’d better get going. It’s rude to interrupt people you don’t even know.”

A mocking laugh rings out from Felix’s lips. “Of course I don’t know you. I’d never know such a miserable ass.” 

He turns and begins to walk away, when the lord speaks again. “And I’d never know someone who could be so stupid.”

Felix stops.

“Tell me, Felix,” the voice, which had sounded so pompous only moments ago, has a veneer of authority to it that Felix wasn’t expecting. “Do you know how to walk on your knees?”

“What?”

Felix turns around. The lord is only a few feet away from him, his bright white teeth flashed in an almost grotesque smile. “Would you like me to teach you?”

Felix bristles. His eyes are not going to glow gold and he is not going to kill someone. He just met Byleth, but he thinks she’d tease him about it for the rest of his life if he killed someone on his second day in the city. He can save it for another time. Maybe his third day. “I wouldn’t if I were you.”

He scoffs. “Why? What could you possibly do to me?”

Felix grits his teeth and clenches his hand into a fist. “You have no idea,” he says lowly.

“Be my guest!” the lord cries. “Come on! What are you, a coward and a loudmouth?”

Blood rushes in Felix’s ears as he draws back his arm and swings at the lord. He’s not a physical fighter, but he still knows how to throw a punch, and he can feel the force behind his swing.

Unfortunately, he learned how to fight in an alleyway behind a bar in his hometown, not against trained knights and lords. His arm is grabbed and roughly forced behind his back, a bruising grip on his wrist.

“I’ll have you thrown in jail for that,” the redhead sneers.

Felix spits on his shoe. “Who do you think you are, the king?”

A laugh. “No. I’m his son, Sylvain.”

Sylvain’s boot comes up and kicks at the back of Felix’s knees, forcing him to the ground. Two of the guards walk over to him, and Felix grimaces. Byleth is going to be furious.

-

On second thought, when Byleth had asked him to lay low, she probably hadn't wanted him to end up in prison. At least it wasn’t for magic. It could have been way worse, in the grand scheme of things.

As if to prove that things here do well and truly suck, a rat skitters across the floor of the prison cell. Felix scowls down at it. Bastard. He hopes it finds its way up to the prince’s quarters and eats all his toes. It would serve him right.

-

Felix sleeps fitfully that night, troubled by the same dreams and the same voice in his head. When he wakes, it doesn’t stop, and he scuttles to his feet, pressing himself against the wall as a cool voice whispers his name.

It seems as though it’s coming from underneath the stone floor of the prison. _“Felix,”_ the voice whispers, low and cool. It’s the sort of voice meant for secrets, and it slides like a shiver down Felix’s spine.

He bends down, pressing a hand to the stone to try to parse what it is that’s whispering to him.

“Felix!” Byleth sounds completely monotonous as a guard slides open the cell door, waving at him. “How did you end up down here?”

Felix jumps to his feet, pushing the voice out of his mind. “I got into a scuffle with the prince.”

“Oh.” Byleth nods. “That wasn’t very smart.”

Felix grits his teeth. “No. It wasn’t.” Hopefully Byleth doesn’t expect him to thank her for getting him out. He’s not going to.

“There’s a small price to pay for your release,” Byleth says, serene as ever. “I hope you won’t mind.” 

-

A small price turns out to be a rather large blow to his dignity. He’s in the stockade in the square, a sitting duck for village children to throw rotting food at, and Byleth has the audacity to laugh.

“Well,” she says, blinking at him in that strange, owlish way she has. He can’t tell if it’s an affected trait or if she really is just thinking of nothing at all. “It’s better than prison, isn’t it?”

Felix scowls. “Prison didn’t have anyone throwing rotten food at me.”

“If you’re ever in prison again I’ll come by and throw tomatoes at you,” Byleth says, sounding serene as can be. 

“That’s not what I meant,” Felix snaps.

Byleth laughs again. “I’ll come by at the top of the hour when your sentence has been paid. Have fun.” 

She heads off, leaving Felix alone in the square. He struggles uselessly against the stockade for a few moments, then gives in and slumps over. It’s not long before the children of Camelot have started throwing rotting food at him, and Felix grimaces his way through it.

Respite comes in the form of a woman in a cream-colored gown with an orange cape thrown over her shoulders. She’s holding a basket of bread, and stops when she sees Felix in his rather pitiful state. “Why don’t you run along?” she says to one of the boys, plucking the tomato out of his hands and replacing it with a warm, fresh roll. “Don’t you have something better to be doing?”

The boy takes a bite of the bread, shrugs, and then runs off, followed by his friends.

She glides over to Felix, giggling at his sorry state and plucking a peace of lettuce out of his hair. “Hi there! I’m Annette!” The young woman has orange-red hair hanging down to just below her shoulders, and a smile that even Felix can’t say no to. I’m Lady Ingrid’s lady-in-waiting.”

Felix tries and fails to twist his neck to get a better look at her. “Felix.”

“I saw what you did,” Annette chatters. “I thought it was really brave! Sylvain can be pretty stupid sometimes.”

Felix snorts. “I think I was the stupid one in that situation.”

She giggles. “Maybe so! Still, it was nice to see someone stand up to him. Sylvain gets away with a lot. I’m glad you didn’t try to hit him again though. You wouldn’t have been able to beat him.”

“Oh, I could have beat him,” Felix says firmly. “It wouldn’t have been hard.”

Annette cocks her head to the side. “You think so? I know he doesn’t look that muscle-y, but Sylvain works hard, even if he pretends not to. You don’t look like that.”

Felix arches an eyebrow. “Thanks.”

A laugh bubbles out of Annette’s lips. “Sorry! I didn’t mean it like that! I’m sure you’re very strong! It’s just that Sylvian is very, hmm… very intent on being a hero, I suppose. You don’t seem like that.”

“I could be a hero,” Felix says, pouting. If Glenn were here, he’d ruffle Felix’s hair and laugh, but Glenn isn’t here. He shouldn’t think about him.

“Of course!” Annette says. “I’m sorry, I should have thought my words through better. Ingrid is always saying I need to think before I speak.” She sighs. “I think you were brave, is all.”

Felix turns his head in the stockade to try to smile at her. It doesn’t come out quite right, but she smiles back, and he appreciates her for that more than words can say. “I have to go,” she says, voice full of regret. “Lady Ingrid is waiting. But… I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah.” Felix shifts, trying to alleviate some of the pressure on his neck. “I’ll see you around.”

Annette nods and then skips off, leaving Felix smiling reluctantly behind her. 

-

Felix’s gets back to Byleth’s rooms afterward with a scowl firmly affixed to his face. Byleth laughs when he comes in, sorting through bundles of herbs on her table. He barely understands what it is she does all day, but it must be important judging by the single-minded focus with which she goes at it. 

“How was it?” She doesn’t look up from the herbs she’s winding together.

Felix collapses onto the bench across from Byleth. “Terrible. I’d rather have had the rats.”

“Hmm.” Byleth dumps some herbs into a bowl and crushes them with a mortar and pestle. “If you say so.” She freezes abruptly, jerking up and locking eyes with Felix. “Your father asked me to look after you.”

“I know,” Felix says.

“What does he say about you?” she asks. “Your gifts.”

Rodrigue hadn’t had much to say besides that his magic was dangerous, and that he’d have to be careful. It had been Glenn who’d encouraged him, who’d always watched him with a look of wonder. While Glenn was alive, Felix used his magic openly in the house, even despite the way it made his father’s jaw tighten with worry.

Being around Byleth is the closest to freedom he’s felt since Glenn’s death.

“He said that I was special, and that it was dangerous to be special.”

Byleth sighs. “You _are_ special.”

Felix shrugs and looks down at the stone floor.

Byleth reaches out and rests her hand on top of his, feather-light and comforting. Felix wants very badly to jerk away from the touch, but the contact is nice. Refreshing, even. He doesn’t move. 

“Most magic requires years of study,” Byleth says. “Have you ever studied magic formally?”

Felix shakes his head.

“Exactly,” Byleth whispers. She squeezes his hand and then sits up. “I’ve never seen magic like yours before. There certainly isn’t any magic like this in Camelot.”

“Why?” The question rips itself out of Felix’s throat before he can stop it. “Why isn’t there any magic here?”

“All the magic users in Camelot are dead,” Byleth says, a faraway expression on her face. “First they came for the dragons. And then, once those were dead, the King wiped out the magic users next.”

“The dragons?” Felix says.

Byleth spreads her hands. “They were dangerous, he said. Vicious. It’s easy to get people to turn on a beast. And after they’d killed the dragons, it wasn’t hard to persuade the people to see anything with magic as a beast.”

“So they killed them,” Felix says, voice flat.

Byleth nods. “The ones that got caught, at least.” She meets Felix’s eyes. “There’s only one dragon left, to my knowledge. The King keeps him locked up beneath the castle.” She smiles. “Grisly, isn’t it?”

Felix nods.

Byleth’s voice sharpens. “If you’re not careful, you’ll join him down there. Now, take this to Lady Helen. It’s for her throat for the performance tomorrow.”

-

The walk to the performer’s chambers isn’t far, and Felix winds his way up the spiral staircase, his mind still occupied by thoughts of dragons. There’s so much death in this accursed city. Why had his father sent him here? What good could possibly be found in Camelot?

Felix knocks on the heavy wooden door, and when there’s no response he pushes it open. The room is empty, with a desk and a large mirror taking up the majority of the room. There’s a changing screen in the corner, and presumably a bed beyond, but none of that is of interest to Felix. There’s a notebook on the table, and a small, woven straw doll sitting next to it.

Just behind the desk is a large, standing mirror with a white cloth draped over it. Felix frowns, stepping forward and reaching out to tug at the cloth. There’s a sliver of glass exposed, and he’s suddenly dying to know why it’s covered.

His fingertips have just brushed against the cloth when there’s footsteps from behind him. Felix whirls around, his face red.

There’s a woman in front of him, with golden-blonde hair that’s been plaited up onto the crown of her head. “What are you doing in here?”

Felix steps around the desk and shoves the little bottle into her hands. “Byleth sent me. She sent this for your throat.”

Lady Helen looks down at the bottle like it’s personally offended her, then glances back up at him. “I see.” Her lips curls.

Felix walks over to the door and then turns, giving her an awkward little half-bow. As he does, he catches a sliver of her face reflected in the mirror behind her. It’s just a glimpse, but the sight he sees chills his bones. The skin of her neck is rotting, withered, and a pale, sickly grey.

He keeps his composure and thanks her, then hurries away, down the tower stairs and back into the courtyard.

-

Felix needs to find Byleth. It’s the only thought in his head as he hurries down the castle halls and makes his way through the courtyard. Whatever he saw in the mirror wasn’t natural. Unbidden, Byleth’s words about only stupid magicians being caught ring in his ears. 

The dread hangs over him like a shroud. Felix keeps his head down, hoping that no one will disturb him.

Instead, a voice calls out to him.

“You there!” Sylvain calls across the square to him, his voice jovial and loud.

Felix is trying very hard to do what Byleth suggested and keep his head down, so he grits his teeth and keeps walking. 

“Aw, come on!” Sylvain jogs over, stopping a step too close to him for comfort. “Don’t run away!”

Felix wants to sneer at him, to shove a hand into his broad chest and let the magic singing in his blood take over. He doubts the prince would look so smug after he’s been thoroughly knocked on his ass.

Still, he is royalty, even if he’s insufferable. Felix stops. “I’m not running.”

Sylvain smiles, an easy grin spreading across his face. It seems that everything about him is easy. Has the idiot ever had to work for a damn thing in his life? “Oh, good.” Sylvain runs a hand through his shock of auburn hair. “I thought maybe you would keep ignoring me forever.”

“Look,” Felix snaps, turning to face Sylvain. He doesn’t cast a spell, doesn’t let his amber eyes flash incandescently gold, but he wants to. Goddess, he wants to. “I’ve already told you that you’re an ass. I just didn’t realize that you’re a royal one. Now I know that the only thing you care about is pushing other people around. Are you going to get your daddy’s men to push me around?” His lip curls, the barest hint of his teeth showing.

Sylvain laughs. The sound ricochets around in Felix’s brain and makes some sort of home there, infuriatingly enough. “I could take you apart with one blow.”

Felix does not appreciate being spoken to like a child. Despite his small stature, he imagines that with his magic, he’d be fully capable of killing this fool. Or, at the very least, knocking him down a much needed peg or two. “I could take you apart with less than that.”

“You can’t speak to me like that,” Sylvain snaps, pulling out his sword and swinging it lazily in a circle. Everything about him drips of contempt, and Felix wants nothing more than to put him in his place.

Felix scoffs. “I just did.”

A broad scowl contorts Sylvain’s face. He doesn’t look quite like himself - his face is not one meant for such unhappy expressions, Felix thinks to himself. He grimaces and squares his shoulders for a fight. It doesn’t matter what Sylvain’s expression is ‘meant for,’ whatever the hell that means.

Felix rips his jacket off and lets it fall to the ground.

“This isn’t a good idea,” Sylvain warns.

“Oh please,” Felix snarls. “Like you care.”

Sylvain shrugs. “I was trying to give you an out.”

Felix doesn’t want an out. He wants to _fight._ His eyes glow gold and the power that thrums through his veins is suddenly all-consuming. He can’t. Not here. Someone will see.

“Come on then!” a knight calls. “Don’t be a coward!”

Sylvain tenses. He swings the sword in a wide arc, and Felix jumps back. “You’d really attack an unarmed man?” Felix asks. “Surely your father taught you better than that.”

“It’s none of your business what my father taught me,” Sylvain snaps. He snaps his fingers at one of the knights though, and a mace is thrown into the dirt at his feet moments later.

Felix stoops down and picks it up, measuring the weight of it in his hands. He’s never fought with a mace before. His brief fighting lessons with Glenn had always been with a sword.

“I’ve been trained to kill since birth.” Sylvain smiles crookedly when he says it. “You sure you want to do this?”

“Shut up,” Felix growls. “Didn’t they tell you to stop being a coward?”

The next swing of the sword is even quicker than the last one, and it’s all Felix can do to dart out of the way in time. 

Sylvain’s face contorts into a terrible grimace, and he jumps forward, thrusting the sword at him. For the first time, Felix realizes that Sylvain might actually be trying to kill him. 

Felix darts into the marketplace, only to have Sylvain’s sword nick the back of one of his ankles. The mace tumbles out of his grasp, and he falls down, scrambling backwards into one of the booths. Sylvain is right on his heels, but Felix is finally out of everyone else’s sight. He lets his eyes glow golden and extends a hand towards a rope on the ground. It tightens of its own accord, and Sylvain trips over it only moments later.

He lands on his hands and knees, looking at Felix with narrowed eyes. “I-” He cuts himself off.

Felix scrambles back further, making a pile of crates tumble over in Sylvain’s path. The prince steps directly into it, and the box slides underneath his foot, tripping him again.

“Okay,” Sylvain says. “What the hell?”

“You must have pretty shitty luck,” Felix says from his spot on the ground.

Sylvain pushes himself to his feet. “Don’t I know it.”

Felix stands, then darts out the back flap of the tent. There’s no noise behind him, and he can only assume that Sylvain has let him go out of some sick, twisted sense of mercy.

When he arrives back at the apothecary, it’s empty, and he sits alone in the dying light of the afternoon until he falls into a dreamless sleep.

-

That night, the whispering of his name comes again. Felix jerks awake, his bedsheets hopelessly tangled around his legs. His blood pounds in his ears, and yet the noise doesn’t stop. Another whisper, louder this time. _Felix._

He sits up, raking a hand through his hair. Enough is enough. He’s going to put an end to all of this. Byleth said there were caverns underneath the castle, didn’t she? 

Felix swings his legs out of bed and pulls on a jacket, creeping out of his bedroom and over to the door of Byleth’s apothecary. Even from out here, he can hear her snoring, and there’s no sign of her stirring as he slips the door open and heads out into the hallway.

He makes his way through the empty castle hallways on silent footsteps, hugging the shadows so as to stay out of the dim light the torches throw into the hallway. The voice keeps calling to him as he walks along, and his feet guide him to a small, oak door of their own accord.

The stairs that lead down into the depths are worn and aged, weathered by countless footsteps before his. Felix draws his cloak a little tighter around himself as he descends into the darkness below, holding his torch high so as to keep from tripping. It’s an awfully long way to fall, and he doubts that anyone would come running if he cried out for help.

His only company is the steady drip of water, and the incessant whisper in his head of his own name. It’s chilling, and with every step he takes he wonders more why he thought it necessary to come down here in the first place.

Finally, he reaches the bottom, if it can be called that. He’s standing on a thin shelf cut into the wall, a cavernous depth below him. It’s huge down here. The King could be hiding a whole colony of dragons, not just one.

From within the darkness comes a rattle of chains. Felix steps back, pressing himself up against the wall to seem as small as possible. Another rattle, and then a growl.

“Show yourself!” Felix cries, brandishing his torch like some brave adventurer. “I know you’re the one that’s been calling out to me!”

“Do you now?” The voice that answers him is cool and amused, and sounds weary beyond belief.

Felix has never seen a dragon before, but as soon as it steps into the light, he knows he would have recognized it anywhere. It’s just as if he were to see the ocean. All he’s had are a child’s approximations, but there is no way for an ocean to look other than that which it is. Such is the same with this dragon.

He’s huge, of course, with a long, serpentine neck and pale white scales. After the awe leaves him, Felix sees the creature for what it is. There’s a large chain around his neck and holes in his wings, and instead of shining in the light, his scales are dull and sickly. Despite himself, Felix pities him. He didn’t think so great a beast could look so pathetic. 

“You’re so small,” the dragon says. “I expected you to be taller.”

Felix bristles, brandishing his torch as threateningly as he can. “I’m plenty tall. You’re the one who’s too tall.”

“Perhaps,” the dragon agrees. “But regardless, your destiny dwarfs any height you may or may not have.” The dragon sits back on his hind legs, drawing his neck up and then looking down at Felix through slitted pupils. “I am Seteth. And you, Felix, have a great destiny.”

“No I don’t,” Felix snaps. “What are you talking about?”

“Your gift serves a purpose,” Seteth says. “It was given to you for a powerful reason.”

“So there is a reason,” Felix mutters.

“Of course,” Seteth replies. “There is a reason for all things.” He spreads his wings, the light shining pale like death through the fine membrane. “Sylvain is the Once and Future King who will unite the lands.”

Felix lets out a sharp laugh. “Sure.”

Seteth folds his wings back into his sides and lowers his neck, his eye level with Felix’s head. Against his will, Felix steps back. He has plenty of magic, after all, but he’s never fought a dragon before, and he isn’t certain that it would go well.

“He will face many threats, from both friend and foe alike.” A pause. “He already does.”

“That has nothing to do with me,” Felix retorts, his grip on the torch tightening. 

“It has everything to do with you!” Seteth snaps. “Without you, Sylvain will die, and all will fall to ruin.”

“You’ve got this wrong.” Felix takes another step back, preparing to run away and dart up the stairs. “If anything, you should be worried that I’m going to kill that idiot myself.”

“There is no wrong.” Seteth’s lip curls. “All that matters is that which is, and that which is not.”

“I don’t have a destiny,” Felix repeats. He’s quickly losing his temper, and he can feel magic rising up inside him, an uncontrollable flood that he’d like nothing more than to drown Seteth with.

“All things have a destiny,” Seteth says. He raises his head, looking up at the faint light streaming in from the ceiling. “Even if we dislike it. All things have a destiny.” He spreads his wings and takes to the air, leaving Felix alone in the dark.

He swallows and makes his way back up the winding stone steps, the darkness surrounding him on all sides.

-

“Felix!” Byleth shakes him roughly awake, and Felix scowls, tossing a forearm over his eyes. “It’s past nine,” Byleth says. “I have errands for you to run.”

Felix sighs and rolls out of bed, combing his hands through his bedhead. He’s exhausted, his little trek down to the caverns beneath the castle having left him weary beyond belief.

“I need to talk to you,” Felix says. “About yesterday, I-”

“You’re late already, and so am I.” Byleth shoves a satchel into Felix’s hands. “I’ll see you at the performance tonight. The king gave staff permission to come.”

“But-”

“No buts!” Byleth exclaims. “Like I said, we’re both running late. Go give Lady Galatea her potion. She’s been having nightmares.”

“This place is a nightmare,” Felix mutters, but he pulls a shirt on and sets off to Lady Galatea’s rooms nonetheless.

Just as when he visited Lady Helen, there’s no answer to the knock on her door. He slides it open carefully, intending to dart inside, leave the potion, and be gone. Instead, he’s greeted with the sight of Annette, the girl from the marketplace, holding up a grand blue dress in front of a mirror.

“Um.”

Annette whirls around, dropping the dress in her haste. “Who’s there!” Her eyes are wide with shock, and she looks ready to throw a punch. “Oh.” She deflates. “Felix, right?”

“Right.”

“That’s fine then,” she says, sweeping her bangs out of her eyes. “Oh! The dress!” She bends down and picks the dress back up, her cheeks tinged pink. “Sorry. Pretend you didn’t see that?”

“Sure.”

She hangs the dress up behind a screen, then stalks towards him, pointing an accusatory finger. “You’re not going to tell anyone, are you?”

“What? Why would I tell anyone?”

“You are!” Annette jabs him in the chest with her finger. “I knew it! How dare you intrude on someone’s privacy like that! And you have no right to step into these rooms like you own the place! What if Lady Ingrid had been asleep! Or worse, changing! You have no sense of decorum!” 

Her voice is steadily rising as her tirade goes on, and Felix finds himself slowly backing away. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise,” he says again, more emphatically this time. “I have a potion from Byleth!”

Annette’s hand falls back down to her side. “For her nightmares?”

“Yes.”

She chews on her bottom lip. “I guess that’s alright then. But I better not catch you snooping around in here again!”

Felix, wisely, doesn’t point out that he wasn’t snooping at all. He turns to leave, and walks directly into another person.

“Oh! Sorry about that!” A rough voice says.

Felix looks up to see a woman standing before him. She’s lovely, with piercing green eyes and soft blonde hair that lays in a braid over her shoulder. “Lady Galatea, I presume?”

She rolls her eyes. “Oh please. Just call me Ingrid. I’m hardly a lady.” She unclasps her forest green cloak and deposits it into Annette’s arms. “Who’s our visitor?”

“Felix.” He bows, then wonders if that was a weird thing to do. Ingrid doesn’t seem like she takes etiquette especially seriously. 

“Well Felix,” Ingrid plops down into an armchair. “What are you doing here?”

Felix glances towards the door. He should have made his exit earlier, and now he’s trapped. “Byleth sent me. To bring you a tonic. For your nightmares.”

Ingrid’s faint smile falls from her face. “Right. Thank her for me, would you?”

Felix nods. “Sure.”

“I’ll see you at the performance then?” At Ingrid’s side, Annette nods excitedly.

Felix sighs. He’s stuck in Camelot no matter what; he may as well at least try to make a friend or two. “I’ll see you at the performance.”

-

The performance is upon them, and Felix still hasn’t had a chance to speak with Byleth. Even worse, he’s hardly seen her all day. When he got back from his errands there’d simply been a note on the table that said ‘gone fishing.’ She hadn’t returned for lunch, and finally Felix was forced to trudge to the banquet and subsequent performance alone.

When he gets there, he scans the crowd, desperate for her dark blue head of hair. Instead, the only friendly face he sees is Annette, who sidles up next to him after a few minutes.

“Sorry I yelled at you earlier,” she says.

“It’s fine.” Felix grabs a glass of punch and takes a sip. It’s disgusting. “So, do they have these kinds of things often?”

“All the time!” Annette chirps. “Ingrid always tries to get out of them, but she’s the king’s ward and all, and wherever she goes I go, so we’re at most of them.”

“You and her are close then?” Felix asks.

Annette nods, her eyes shining as she watches Ingrid from across the room. “Of course. I’ve been her lady-in-waiting for years.”

“You can’t really be her friend though, can you?” The question slips out, unbidden and far too harsh for what Felix had truly meant to say.

Annette turns to glare at him, her small face screwed up in annoyance. “How can you say that? Of course we’re friends!” She tips her chin up and crosses her arms. “I’m her best friend.”

Felix wants to remark on how that can’t possibly be true - surely a noble lady such as Ingrid can do better than consorting with her servants so openly - but he holds his tongue. He’s proven wrong mere moments later, anyways.

Ingrid looks over from across the room, making eye contact with Annette. Immediately her glazed, unseeing expression vanishes, and her whole face lights up. Annette waves cheerily, and Ingrid bites back a small smile, rolling her eyes and jerking her head towards the noble who’d gone off to get her a drink. Annette laughs, and Felix feels a bitter jealousy rise up within him.

“Clearly I was wrong,” he says, stiff.

Annette bumps her shoulder against his. “Don’t look so pouty! You’re my friend too.”

Felix smiles before he can help it. “Thanks.”

Annette keeps her eyes on Ingrid, even as she turns back to talk to Sylvain. “His father wants them to marry, you know.”

“No,” Felix says, following Annette’s gaze to linger on Sylvain. “I didn’t.” Sylvain bends down towards Ingrid and says something that makes her laugh. She shoves his shoulder playfully, and he pretends to stumble backwards as though there’d been an unholy amount of force behind her push.

“She doesn’t want to,” Annette says conspiratorially. “If Ingrid had it her way, I don’t think she’d ever marry.” Her smile dips. “It’s sad, isn’t it?”

Whatever Felix is about to reply with is lost, as Lady Helen clears her throat and steps into the center of the room. At once, everyone takes their seats, Sylvain heading over to sit next to his father at the long banquet table at the front of the room. Ingrid sits on the King’s other side, and Arthur heads over to the doorway where Byleth is waiting. They’re not technically supposed to be here, she’d said, but she’d also said that the King wouldn’t notice or care, and that there was no reason not to hear some good music.

Felix thinks that ‘good’ might not be the best word to describe whatever it is they’re about to hear. He hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to Byleth before the ball had started, and so any warning or question about the grizzled face in the mirror remain unsaid.

“Byleth,” Felix hisses. “There’s something off about Lady Helen.”

“She’s lovely, isn’t she?” Byleth responds dreamily. “I wonder if she’s single.”

“What?” Felix scowls. “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I-”

Lady Helen steps into the center of the room, clasping her hands in front of her and looking around expectantly. The King rises, lifting a jeweled goblet into the air. “To Lady Helen,” he says. “We are ever so fortunate to have a woman as lovely as you grace our presence, and even more fortunate to have the blessing of hearing your voice.”

Murmurs of assent sound throughout the room, and the King sits down in his seat, gesturing for Lady Helen to continue at her leisure. At his side, Sylvain sits ramrod straight, his chin lifted and his eyes dull. Felix doesn’t mean to let his eyes linger on the prince, but it happens anyways. The longer he stares at him, the faker the prince’s smile looks, until it might as well not be there at all.

It turns his stomach. Foolish. He shouldn’t care about Sylvain’s smile.

“Thank you for the warm welcome,” Lady Helen says. “I am humbled by the splendor of Camelot.” She looks around the room with wide, bright eyes. “It’s an honor to be here.”

With that, she starts to sing.

Felix has always loved music, as loathe as he is to admit it. But Lady Helen’s song is like nothing he has ever heard before. Her voice is rich and full, and it fills the entire room with ease. There’s no noise except her song, haunting and beautiful and - Felix realizes - deadly. The king is the first to succumb, his eyelids drooping as the words take hold of him. Sylvain follows soon after, slumping in his chair as his eyes fall shut.

Felix clamps his hands over his ears.

From across the room, Ingrid meets his gaze, her eyes wide and afraid. In a few minutes though, they slide shut, and she too succumbs to the sleep that Lady Helen’s song summons. 

Lady Helen walks forward slowly, still singing. Even through his hands, Felix can make out the melody. It’s otherworldly, and as she sings, the whole world seems to slow. With each step she takes, a trail of cobwebs appears behind her, and the longer she sings the more cobwebs grow. Sylvain’s head falls onto the table with a thump just as a particularly thick cobweb coats his hair.

Lady Helen pulls a dagger out of her sleeve, still singing all the while. Felix’s eyes glow gold and he stares at the chandelier above her, willing it to crush her. A link of the chain holding it up snaps, and Lady Helen looks up just as the chandelier falls.

It knocks her to the ground, pinning her beneath the wrought-iron frame. She cries out in pain, and as the song stops, wakefulness starts to enter the room once more. Ingrid is the first to sit up, brushing cobwebs out of her hair and scowling.

Everyone else is slower to wake, and far groggier than she appears.

Lady Helen, however, has no such problem. The dagger is just out of reach, and with a grunt she stretches forward and grabs it. Sylvain lifts his head just as Lady Helen’s hand closes around the dagger. She draws her arm back and throws it with all her might, and it flies across the room, true as an arrow.

Felix doesn’t know why he does what he does next. It’s pure instinct, nothing more. Altruism, perhaps. But as soon as Lady Helen lets go of the dagger he’s moving, his eyes glowing golden as time slows to a crawl around him. It’s the kind of instinctive magic that Byleth had been so amazed by. He hadn’t even known he could manipulate time like this, but he can hardly complain when he’s sprinting across the stone floor and throwing himself at Sylvain. 

He tackles him off his chair, landing on top of him with a thud just as the knife embeds itself in the back of his seat. Felix presses his hands to Sylvain’s shoulders, warm brown eyes meeting his for just a moment before he stands.

Time starts to move like normal again.

Lady Helen lets out a gasp, and crumbles into a pile of dust. The King wipes a cobweb off of his shoulder and stands. “How dare she?” he snarls. “You.” He whirls to face Felix, who’s climbing to his feet and pulling Sylvain up after him. “You saved my son’s life.”

Felix takes a step back. “I-”

“The Kingdom would be ruined if not for you,” the King mutters. “Such bravery deserves a reward.”

“Father,” Sylvain says. “Really now, is it-”

“Silence!” The King snaps. “Children should speak when they are spoken to. You should know that by now.”

Sylvain nods tightly.

The king grips Felix’s shoulder, the weight of his hand so heavy that Felix feels as though it will push him through the floor they stand on. “Now then. A reward for a brave young man.” His grip tightens, almost to the point of pain. “You shall be my son’s personal servant. You’ll work here, in the palace.”

Felix opens his mouth to protest, but the king looks down at him, his shock of red hair and brown eyes nothing like Sylvain’s. His features are cold and impersonal, and there’s no kindness or joy in his eyes. “To serve a prince is a great honor, is it not?”

Felix swallows. “Of course.”

-

Things wrap up pretty quickly after that. Everyone returns to their rooms so that the guards can do a full sweep of the castle for any further enchantments. Felix knows they won’t find anything, but he doesn’t bother mentioning it. There’s no reason to invite more attention upon himself.

Instead, he heads back to the apothecary with Byleth. She sits down at the long table in the center of the room, staring at him curiously. “Was that what you were trying to tell me about?”

Felix rolls his eyes. “Yes. It’s a little late for you to decide I’m worth paying attention to.”

Byleth frowns. “Don’t be rude.” She sounds absentminded though, and it’s hardly a chastisement. Instead, she stands as quickly as she’d sat down, stooping over and feeling along the floor.

“Byleth?” Has she finally lost it? Honestly, Felix is surprised it hasn’t happened sooner.

“I’m looking for something,” she says. After a few more moments of searching, she makes a pleased noise as she closes her fingers around one of the large stones in the floor. She pries it up, then sets it carefully off to the side. “Be careful with this, alright?”

She stands, brushing her bangs out of her face before extending a small, worn brown book towards him. “Here you go.”

“How am I supposed to be careful with a book?” Felix asks. “Do you think I’m that prone to injury?”

“Hush,” Byleth says. “Open it.”

Felix opens the book, his fingers tracing over the lettering on the cover page. _Fundamentals of Magic Theory._ He looks back up at Byleth. “This is a book of magic.”

She shrugs. “I’m a woman of mystery.”

For once, Felix thinks she might be telling the truth. “Thanks,” he says, tucking it into the inside pocket of his jacket. “I’ll keep it safe.”

A pounding on the door cuts through their conversation. “Felix! Prince Sylvain requests your presence at once!”

“Well?” Byleth arches an eyebrow. “Your destiny is calling.”

Felix grimaces, but turns and heads over to the door. Destiny or not, he’s stuck with Sylvain now, and he intends to make the best of it.

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me on twitter @edelgardlesbian !!


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